


The One with the Biker and the Medical Student

by monbronte



Category: The 100
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Modern AU, and a bit of smut, biker!Octavia, but expect angst sometime soon, just fluff for the time being, med student!clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3942625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monbronte/pseuds/monbronte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Raven Reyes moves out of Clarke Griffin's apartment, Clarke must find a new roommate. Enter Octavia Blake, the biker who knows her coffee, and Clarke can't seem to stay away from her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Interview - Prologue

“You can’t do this to me,”

Clarke Griffin stands across her best friend and roommate – well, now _ex_ -roommate – practically pleading for her to not let her go.

“It’s not like I’m moving out of the building, Princess,” Raven Reyes rolls her eyes, as Clarke mentally cringes at the nickname she has despised for years, “I’m just moving to a lower floor because I can’t climb so many stairs.”

Raven’s referring to her leg, which is partially paralysed, and she needs a brace to walk around. Climbing stairs is a tedious task that she would rather move away from her best friend of five years than keep walking up to the fifth floor.

Which she is. 

“I will build an elevator just for you,” Clarke argues, her blue eyes widening in plea.

Raven just laughs, and pats Clarke’s back, picking up one of her lighter duffel bags. “I’m literally three floors down, and you’ll spend so much time at my place, don’t even deny it.”

The blonde groans, rolling her eyes. “You’re probably right.” 

The older girl laughs and opens the door of the apartment they shared for the last two years of college. “I’m always right. Now come on.” 

Clarke rolls her eyes, grabbing the other two larger bags and following the other girl out of the door, shutting the door behind her and heading to the stairs. 

“So who’s your roommate?”

“Monroe from my engineering class. She’s all right. Got an old ankle injury so we’re kind of on the same boat.” Raven replies, gripping onto the rails tightly with her free hand as she descends down the stairs.

Clarke follows closely behind her to make sure she doesn’t fall, a usual routine. “Oh yeah, you two can swap notes on physiotherapists.”

“You’re not funny, Griffin,” Raven mumbles, rolling her eyes at the blonde’s attempt at humor, “what about you? You getting a new roommate?”

“You know you’ll never be replaced, Reyes,” the blonde replies, laughing, “but I’ve got three people who responded to the ad I put in the newsletter, so we’ll see how we go.”

“As long as they aren’t a serial killer.”

“Knowing my luck, they will be.”

* * *

It’s noon the next day when Clarke meets the first roommate candidate at the college coffee shop, the Ark. They sit at a table and get to know each other better. Maya, also a sophomore, is studying biomedicine and has very similar interests to her. She is brilliant beyond her years.

As much as Clarke likes her, she doesn’t really like to be second-bested, especially when it comes to intelligence.

Thanks, but no thank you.

By two o’clock, she’s with her second applicant, one of her old high school friends, Harper. They speak for a few hours, laughing and chatting and discussing what they had been doing since they graduated. They had talked occasionally, but they had never actually met up, which is ridiculous, considering they are in the same college. They part on good terms, and Clarke’s tempted to call the third girl and tell her _thanks, but no thanks_ , but she decides to wait it out. Maybe this girl would surprise her.

The girl, _something_ Blake, was supposed to meet her at five.

Ten minutes go past.

At five to six, she’s about to get up and leave when a figure bursts through the door, wearing a motorcycle helmet, and suddenly all eyes are on the mystery person. They rush to the counter and order their coffee, scanning the shop to find someone they’re looking for.

Suddenly, the figure and Clarke are looking at each other, and they’re face-to-visor.

They move to the booth across from Clarke swiftly and take off their helmet, much to Clarke’s surprise.

Underneath the helmet is a brunette girl, no older than Clarke, with vibrant emerald eyes, and an apologetic smirk on her face.

Can one even apologetically smirk?

The girl is panting, and Clarke realizes this is the third girl who put in the application for a roommate.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, “my boss is an ass and wanted me to work a later shift.”

“Not a problem,” Clarke replies, smiling to put the girl at ease. “I’m Clarke.”

“Octavia,” she responds, extending her hand for Clarke to shake. She takes it politely.

At that moment, the barista comes by and brings Octavia her coffee and another one identical. He places the two coffees in front of the two girls, and Clarke looks at the brunette questioningly. “What’s this?”

“I felt bad for being late, so I got you the best coffee they make,” she replies, sliding the coffee closer to Clarke, “try it.”

Brows furrowed, she takes a tentative sip, before the warmth radiates inside her, and her eyes widen. “This is amazing! What’s in it?”

Octavia smirks, a laugh threatening to surface. “Chocolate caramel latte with whipped cream and shavings of chocolate. I really hope you’re not diabetic.”

Clarke’s eyes widen even further at this and she almost groans in delight. She lets out a light chuckle and shakes her head. “No, I’m not diabetic, but this seems amazing! How did you figure this recipe out?”

The brunette grins, shrugging. “My brother owns a coffee shop, I used to work there in high school.”

“So you know all the secrets?”

“You could put it like that, I suppose,” she replies with a smile, taking a sip of her coffee. “Anyway, you probably have some questions to ask?”


	2. The one where Clarke is a klutz.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day, Raven calls to ask how the interviews went. There is popcorn involved. And a sore foot.

After an hour of small talk, Clarke decides to go with the mysterious Octavia Blake. She’s not exactly sure why, especially since she was going to choose Harper, but she supposes this might be a pleasant challenge.

Octavia will move in their apartment in the afternoon.

Her cell phone rings, and blasts Katy Perry’s _I Kissed a Girl_ as Raven’s familiar ringtone. Clarke sighs, making a mental note to change the ringtone of her best friend’s contact.

“Poor song choice,” Clarke answers, not gracing the other girl with an answer, “and that was one time.”

She can practically hear Raven rolling her eyes. “And it was the best experience you’ve ever had.”

Debatable. “Is there a reason why you called me? Or are you just lonely?”

“I wanna know how yesterday’s interviews went, you dumbass.”

“Oh yeah,” Clarke let out a shrug, knowing the brunette on the other line couldn’t see it. “Nothing interesting. I made a decision.”

“And are you going to dance around the answer, or do I have to wrestle it out of you?” Clarke could tell Raven was beginning to grow impatient, and she couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across her face at the irritation of her best friend.

“Her name’s Octavia Blake.”

For a few seconds, Clarke could hear nothing on the other end, and she checked her phone to make sure her cell signal wasn’t spotty.

“Blake,” came the almost breathless whisper from Raven, causing Clarke to furrow her brow in confusion. Why was Raven suddenly acting so strange?

“As in the little sister to _Bellamy Blake_ , whom you once dated? _That_ Octavia Blake?”

Clarke nearly dropped her phone in shock and horror. How could she have been so stupid? Blake may have been a common name, but the _fucking coffee shop_ should’ve been the trigger.

* * *

Bellamy had owned the coffee shop since inheriting it from his deceased mother. Clarke had never actually met Octavia, Bellamy didn’t really speak about her much, since Octavia was put in the foster system, being only twelve when her mom passed away from a drug overdose.

Bellamy, only eighteen – though legally an adult – wasn’t allowed to take care of her because of his juvenile record from when he was younger.

Clarke had first met Bellamy in her freshman year of college. He was the mysterious senior who she’d see strolling around campus, nose buried in a history book.

Unconsciously, she had begun to sketch him under a tree one day, and in the blink of an eye, he took the sketchbook and grinned at the drawing, murmuring a “you didn’t get my nose right” before sauntering off.

Eventually, they had begun to date, but Bellamy kept the air of mystery, not exactly divulging much to Clarke despite the months of them together.

It eventually came to be their downfall.

They’d spend most of their time at the coffee shop when they weren’t in Bellamy’s apartment, talking, laughing, kissing.

But the fact that Bellamy never actually told her anything about himself finally pushed Clarke over the edge.

She confronted him, demanding for him to tell her something, _anything_ , so she didn’t feel like the relationship was one sided.

He didn’t.

Heartbroken, Clarke had stayed away from him; Raven was there to help her through it. It wasn’t something you could just easily get over.

Clarke thought she loved him – he only loved himself.

* * *

“Clarke? Earth to Clarke. Did you die on me or something?”

The sound of Raven’s concerned tone brings Clarke out of her reverie. She shakes her head, shaking away the memories and feelings that threatened to resurface.

She was fine. She had been fine for two years. She was fine.

“Sorry. I’m okay.”

“You sure? You kinda spaced out on me just then—”

“I’m fine,” Clarke bites back harshly. She takes a deep breath and gulps, her voice steely calm. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. I was just taken by surprise.”

“Honestly Princess, I’m surprised you didn’t notice. These things usually don’t slip past you. Was she hot?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, knowing that was exactly what threw her off, but she isn’t going to downright admit it to her best friend. “Maybe,”

“I totally knew it! You horny fuck!” Raven cheers, and Clarke has to hold her cell at arms length to save her eardrums. She can practically see Raven throwing her fists into the air and cheering. She waits fifteen seconds before bringing her phone back to her ear.

“I didn’t say yes. I said maybe.”

“That’s a yes, Griffin. There is no way you would say ‘maybe’ if you weren’t trying to throw me off. I know you, Princess. I know when you lie.”

She hates to admit it, but the cripple is right.

“I gotta go. Octavia’s going to be coming by to move in any minute now.”

“You two have fun, but not too much fun. I don’t want to be hearing you from three floors down.”

“Goodbye Reyes.”

Clarke hangs up the phone before Raven can add in another word, tossing her phone onto the couch. She moves into the kitchenette, grabbing a bag of popcorn and chucking it in the microwave. She grabs the remote from the couch, browsing through Netflix before coming to rest on _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_. When the microwave dings, she grabs the hot bag of food and opens it, watching the steam rise out of the bag before pouring it into a bowl with a hungry grin, much like a tiger waiting to eat its prey.

She slumps on the couch, slender limbs stretched across the entirety of the two-seater couch, before pressing play and watching the antics of the hilarious police department.

She’s about halfway through her sixth episode when she feels her eyelids grow heavy. She places the bowl of popcorn on the floor beside the couch, before pausing the TV and letting herself fall asleep.

* * *

She’s not exactly sure what time it is – or what day, for that matter – when she’s woken up by a knocking at the door.

She fumbles for her phone, which is in between two cushions, to check the time, and curses when she realizes she’s slept for three hours.

She rushes to get up, and accidentally steps right into the popcorn she had forgotten about.

Why is the world out to get her?

With popcorn kernels stuck in her foot, she hobbles over to the door, but not before knocking her other foot into the table.

“Mother _fucker_.” She hisses, clutching the sore foot and literally hopping over to the door.

She unlatches the door and swings it open, looking dishevelled, sore, and buttery.

She takes in the sight of Octavia smirking, amused, leaning on the doorframe with two duffel bags behind her.

“Well, aren’t you a sight?”

Clarke sighed. She was a goner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, second one's finally up! Updates are going to be really slow for the next few months with school, so I apologise in advance.
> 
> Anyways, leave a kudos, subscribe, and comment what you'd like to happen further on.
> 
> xox


	3. The one where maybe people are a little bit insane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia sleeps like a puppy. Brooklyn Nine-Nine is watched once more. Cops are discussed.

Octavia looks down at the blonde in front of her, taking in the mess she was.

Her eyes are puffy and red, she’s clutching one foot, and the other one is covered in butter and kernel pieces.

She raises an eyebrow and lets out a light chuckle.

“Wild night?”

Clarke lets out a huff and rolls her eyes, prompting Octavia to start laughing. She gestures behind her to her bags.

“May I? Or are you just going to stand there all buttery and messy?”

Her roommate gives a sheepish smile and opens the door further, allowing Octavia to turn back and grab her bags, walking into the room easily.

“Those look heavy,” she could hear Clarke point out behind her.

Octavia turns around and smiles with a shrug. “You wanna take one and find out?”

Tentatively, Clarke reaches out and Octavia drops the lighter bag onto her forearm. The blonde drops like a fly almost instantly, and she lets out a loud grunt as she tries to hold the bag up. “What? Are you like the Hulk or something?” Clarke wheezes out.

“Something like that,” Octavia shrugs, “or maybe I just work out.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, leaving the bag on the floor for Octavia to pick up with a laugh. She gestures for the brunette to follow her and leads her to her new room.

“So this one is your's, mine’s on the other side of the room. You just saw our tiny kitchen and living room, and the bathroom is just next to my room.”

Octavia nods, looking around and taking everything in quickly before tossing her bags onto her new bed, letting out a quiet hum of approval.

She notices Clarke shifting on her feet before she speaks up. “Well, I’m just going to get the smell of butter off my foot. I’ll leave you to your own devices, let me know if you need anything.”

Octavia looks at Clarke with a grateful smile, sighing quietly.

“Thanks, Griffin.”

“Anytime, Blake,”

With that, Clarke leaves and shuts the door behind her, leaving Octavia alone in the moderately sized bedroom.

She begins to unzip her bags and put all her clothes in the small wardrobe – not that there were many clothes. She then pulls out a couple Polaroids of her and Bellamy, and begins to use sticky tack to stick them up on one of her bare walls. While she’s there, she puts up some posters of Harley Davidsons and KTMs, along with a shirtless Ryan Gosling and a Miranda Kerr in her Victoria’s Secret lingerie. She empties out her bags where everything would go, and places her helmet on her bedside table, before tossing the empty bags to the side and flopping on her bed.

 _Her_ bed. Not Bellamy’s, not her mom’s, _her’s_.

Oh yeah, she could definitely get used to this.

She grabs a tennis ball and starts tossing it up in the air, letting the familiar and repetitive motions relax her. She catches the ball one last time, tosses it on the floor and rolls over, letting her eyes flutter shut on her new pillow.

* * *

As Clarke walked out of the bathroom, hair up in a towel, she looks around to see if Octavia’s out yet. She moves to her new roommate’s room and opens the door quietly, checking up on the Blake.

She takes in the sight of the small girl in a tangle of limbs on her bed, a thin line of saliva dripping from her cheek and onto her pillow. She lets out a small snore, and Clarke has to put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. She slowly shuts the door and walks back to the couch, getting rid of the now less-than-edible popcorn and flopping back on the cushions, resuming her marathon of _Brooklyn Nine-Nine._

It’s an hour later when she hears the slow padding of feet coming from behind her. She turns around and stifles a laugh as she takes in Octavia’s bedhead.

“How long have I been ‘sleep?” The brunette slurs.

“An hour. How do you manage to get your hair like that? You toss an turn a lot?”

“Something like that,” Octavia mumbles distractedly, turning to move towards the kitchenette. “You got coffee?”

“Yeah, got a pot next to the microwave,” Clarke gestures, raising en eyebrow. “It’s seven in the evening, you sure you need caffeine?”

“I’m not a kid, I can handle my coffee,” Octavia quips, pouring herself a mug with a sugar and downing the entire contents in a gulp. She pours herself another one and takes a seat next to Clarke.

It’s here that Clarke notices Octavia’s changes into boy shorts and a tank top reading _Bite Me_ in tie-dye coloring. Not that she isn’t paying that much attention.

“You watch comedy cop shows?” Octavia asks with a quirk of a perfectly manicured – again, not that Clarke notices – eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Sure,” Clarke lets out with a scoff, “and you don’t?”

“I’m more of an _actual_ crime show person. Like _Criminal Minds_ or _SVU_.”

“Okay, I’m offended. _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ is just as much a crime show as the rest.” Clarke defends, placing a hand over her heart in mock-hurt.

“Please, it’s too unrealistic. Cops wouldn’t be joking as much as they do on the job. They got bigger things to worry about.”

“Maybe they joke around so much to maintain some form or sanity or something.” Clarke suggests, shrugging.

“You reckon that all cops are a bit insane?” Octavia asks with a curious smirk.

“No – I mean, kinda? You can’t face what a lot of them face every day and not go a little bit crazy, you know? Like some of that work comes home with you and sometimes it’s just too hard to stop it. Sometimes humor is the only way to show people you’re fine, when in reality you’re going crazy.” Clarke rambles, shrugging.

The TV show can still be heard in the background, but no one’s paying any more attention to it.

“Maybe the one’s who are really crazy are the everyday people we pass in the street. You know, like your teacher, or your classmate, or a barista.”

And with that, Octavia sits up, places the empty mug in the sink and walks back to her room.

In the doorframe, she turns around, a nonchalant shrug on her shoulders.

“Or you know, maybe your roommate.”


End file.
